


Tell Me What I'm Thinking

by The_Female_Gaymer



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aftercare, Blood and Injury, Choking, Confessions, Dirty Talk, F/M, Light Angst, Light Bondage, Marking, Rough Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-27 19:11:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8413291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Female_Gaymer/pseuds/The_Female_Gaymer
Summary: You are wounded on the field of battle saving your other teammates. When Soldier: 76 comes to your room to patch you up, he has a few choice words for you about how he feels about the whole thing.





	

**Author's Note:**

> _Sweats_  
>  J-JUST TAKE IT.

The pain surging through your veins raced from your waist into your brain, and you retracted your hands from the wound in your side as if just having touched a searing stove. The pain was indescribable-- you knew there was probably something lodged in your guts somewhere, but with nearly half the team out for the count after today’s brutal battle, you had figured that, with your meager medicinal knowledge, you would make yourself scarce-- ease up some of the burden on the poor understaffed medics. But in your haste to steal medical supplies from the infirmary, you had neglected to think that being catapulted through a window after tossing away a bomb from D.VA, Tracer, and Hanzo, could probably lodge something in your side-- like, say, a shard of glass.

You muttered a curse, shaking your head as more blood trickled from the wound, and you took the already soaked rag and held it to your side yet again. It was a good thing the cloth was already red, but your bedsheets and your undershirt, on the other hand, were not, and you were fairly certain the towel you’d laid down was no longer doing its work of stopping the blood from staining your sheets. Your undershirt was already doomed, the stains deep and unlikely to wash out, despite your best efforts to hold it up and away from yourself.

Whatever was in your side, you knew it had to come out. You wouldn’t be able to close the wound if it was still there, and it could lodge itself deeper and cut something vital. Then no medicine would be able to help you. You did your best to even out your breathing, despite the agonizing pain, knowing that you’d be short of breath soon enough. You hand shook as it approached your side, already dreading the pain that you knew was to come. All sorts of unsavory images flashed across your mind, of blacking out from the pain, or worse, and someone coming in to your dimly lit room finding you--

The mechanism to your door whirred open, although you were certain that you had locked it, meaning that someone with an alpha keycard had just come into your room. Probably Angela or Ana-- they were the only two medics that hadn’t fallen on the field. But as you looked up to tell them that you were fine, to redirect their attention to the others who required better medical attention, you found yourself shooting up to your feet in a salute.

It wasn’t Angela at your door. It wasn’t Ana either. It was Soldier: 76.

You winced as your side screamed at you for being yanked from its sitting position so suddenly, but you stomached the pain-- most everyone on base was aware, or at least assumed, that Soldier: 76 was Jack Morrison, ex-Strike Commander of Overwatch. No one openly discussed it, of course; no one dared, afraid of what he might say or do in response. But you knew for a fact it was him-- you had seen those dashing blue eyes on TV many a time when you were younger, and they shone just as brilliantly now. To you, he was still a soldier, and a higher ranking one than you, at that. It seemed only fitting to address him as such, with titles such as “sir” and standing to attention upon entering.

As you had suspected, he stood in your doorway with his mask on-- rarely ever did he go around without it, unless it was at meal times, and that was only when he was certain that the base was, for the most part, empty. His form cast a shadow over you as light streamed in from outside, and you could see his brow furrow as he looked you over, standing there with blood dripping from you. He still had on his jacket-- in fact, he was still mostly completely dressed, which left you confused. You knew that, surely, he had to have sustained some of his own injuries during today’s brutal fight. Yet, he looked just as he had gotten off of the carrier back into the base, if not just a little cleaner.

His voice rolled through the floorboards and into your joints as he grumbled, “At ease.” You slumped back on the bed with an exhausted sigh, inhaling sharply once whatever was still lodged in your gut was jostled around. Without really asking permission, Jack strode into the room, and as he approached, you saw that he was carrying more medical supplies, and instead of the red and black tactical gloves that matched his jacket, he instead had on surgical gloves.

“What are you doing?” you asked him, looking up into the light glowing red of his visor dubiously.

“The medics are out or busy,” he replied shortly, taking a seat next to you on the bed and sorting through the tools as he set them down on your nightstand. “And you’re still hurt. Don’t think I didn’t see you slinking off with your tail between your legs, sweetheart.”

The pet name had your face turning pink, and you looked away from him, holding your arm awkwardly. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you began, but Jack cut you off.

“Taking care of your post-battle injuries is their job,” he reminded you with a quiet snap.

“They’re overwhelmed enough as it is,” you barked back, “and I can take care of myself.”

Jack audibly snorted at that. “I’ve seen your files, kid.”

“I’m not a kid.”

“You barely passed your in-field emergency medical exams. Looks like most your blood’s on the bed at this point.”

“It’s barely a pint.”

Jack just grunted in response, and you assumed that he was glaring at you from beneath the mask as he pushed on your side. “Lie down,” he commanded, but you fought against him.

“Bad idea. There’s… there’s something in my side.”

The man muttered a curse of his own, shaking his head and grabbing the tweezers from the plethora of tools he’d brought along with him. “From that Junker kid’s bomb, right? When you went through the window?”

“You saw that?” you asked, feeling yourself tense up as he started poking at your side with one hand and fiddling with the side of his visor with the other, the light on the inside brightening just the slightest bit.

“I was gonna pull your body out of the rubble,” he informed you, his voice rising the slightest bit in anger, “but Hanzo and Tracer beat me to it. You seemed alright, too. Must have been that adrenaline. Should have known you weren’t so lucky. You should have run the hell away from the bomb, or let someone know at the very least you were hurt afterwards.”

“I didn’t know I was hurt, and if I hadn’t done something,” you countered defensively, “Hanzo, Hana, and Lena wouldn’t be here.”

“You could have died!” Jack barked angrily.

“But I didn’t, and even if I had, at least  _ they _ would still be here! I had to do something, Jack! And you would have done the same thing, so don’t give me that bullshit!”

Jack growled and turned away from you in frustration, snatching up a pair of tweezers and hunching over to look at your wound. “Don’t move,” he ordered, clearly fed up with the current conversation.

You complied with his command with a roll of your eyes, remaining still as the device wormed its way inside of you, searching for whatever had lodged itself in your side.

“Won’t say that I haven’t had my fair share of close calls,” he muttered as he worked after a moment, not letting up even when the tweezers brushed against whatever it was and poked at something probably very important. “I’ve done lots of stupid things trying to help those in need. And I went a lot of years without anyone to patch me up but myself. I’d say you’re pretty lucky.”

“Runs in my family,” you replied, gasping as the tweezers spread and latched on to the object inside of you. You grit your teeth against the pain and gripped the bloodied towel beneath you.

“Found it,” he said, and quickly pulled it out of you, before snatching up a clean rag and holding it to your side with his free hand. There was a bedpan he’d brought, and he dropped the offending object inside, then the gloves as well, after quickly stitching you up. You peered over his shoulder to stare at the thing that had brought you so much pain, frowning as a bloody piece of shrapnel with a smiley face painted on it stared back at you, almost as if teasing you for your near-death experience. 

“When I get my hands on those boys,” Jack muttered angrily, and you couldn’t help but snicker at him. When he looked up at you, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking-- the visor tended to hide any and all of his emotions, save for what little one could pick up from staring at his brows.

Without further words, he reached down and grabbed something off of the floor, and you were surprised to see that he had brought a biotic emitter with him. Jack tried not to use the device out of the battlefield, something about expense, and so the sight of it was a bit strange.

“You don’t have to--”

“Who knows when we’re going back out there again,” Jack interrupted you, turning on the device and setting it on the nightstand with the rest of the medical supplies. The warm, yellow light filled the small space of your quarters immediately, and the gaping wound in your side began to patch up. You closed your eyes with relief as the pain started to fade away, then looked at Jack questioningly as he continued to wipe off the blood from your side.

“What about you?” you asked.

His ministrations stopped for a moment, but only for a moment. “What about me?”

You furrowed your brow. “Aren’t you hurt, too? I didn’t see you check in to the infirmary with the others.”

“I can take care of myself,” he replied shortly. “Been doing it for six years. Nothing changes, even when they do. Patched myself up before I came here. Biotic emitter’s helping, too. Right now, you’re my priority. If I did anything wrong, I can fix it later.”

You furrowed your brow further at that as Jack started wrapping gauze around your waist. After he’d finished tying up the gauze, you took his wrists in your hands, and he tensed, clearly surprised.

“Let me see,” you asked him, without really thinking about it. Before he could interject, you added, “I’m sure you had some hard to reach places, if you were patching yourself up. I can help you. I mean… it’s the least I could do.”

Jack seemed to be contemplating your words for a moment, still in your grip, before pulling his hands away. Wordlessly, he removed his jacket, dropping it on the bed behind you, then peeling off his shirt above his head.

“Alright then,” he said once his chest was bared to you, rolling his shoulders effortlessly. The scarred expanse of muscle rippled and flexed, his age clearly having done nothing to his impressive physique. The mask, of course, remained on.

You wanted to really take a moment to admire his form, the broad expanse of his shoulders and his torso, but you didn’t want him to think you had only done this just to get an eyeful of him. Instead, you let your gaze settle on the newest cuts, scrapes, and bruises that painted his pale skin. It looked as if he’d done his own stitching on those that had been more severe, but the energy from the biotic emitter was already doing its work to heal even those. You frowned at the sight of a rather large, unattended gash on his right shoulder blade, gentle fingers tracing over the open wound. Jack twitched a little at the touch and grunted, the motion still clearly bringing him pain. You didn’t wait to get to work, snatching up the stitches yourself and threading it through his skin quickly. Soon enough, the wound closed up, and the last remaining throbs of energy from the biotic emitter worked just enough to help seal it just that much further, to the point of not even requiring bandages like you had feared.

You soon became lost in your exploration of his scarred skin, tracing over new and old scars alike. It wasn’t until he shivered, and goosebumps prickled his skin, that you stopped, pulling away.

“You done back there?” he asked, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you muttered, “sorry.”

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” he asked, turning to you. His voice had gone from commanding and angry to quiet and kind now that your condition was improving.

“We already took care of my needs,” you said to him, and you tried not to think about how close both of your faces would be, if only that mask wasn’t on his face. But, from this distance, you could definitely see his expression soften, and there was a hand on your arm.

“I just want you to be okay,” he confessed quietly, squeezing your arm softly. “I don’t want you throwing yourself in danger--”

“You would have done it for me,” you blurted out, and you placed a hand on his thigh without really thinking about it. He looked down at your hand, and his eyebrows nearly shot into his hairline. Immediately, you recoiled your hand, turning away from him as a bright blush overtook your face. “Sorry.”

Jack tilted his head to one side as he regarded you, and a quiet moment passed before he said, pulling at your bloodied undershirt, “You need to get this thing off. It’s ruined. Looks like you got some on your shorts, too.”

“I’m an adult,” you muttered, pulling away from him slightly.

“I want to make sure you’re comfortable before I leave, and that you don’t need anything.” You frowned at Jack again, and he leaned back, brow knitting. “Don’t give me that look. I may not be a medic, but it’s my job to take care of you, too.”

“I’m an  _ adult _ ,” you emphasised to him again, and Jack snatched up both your wrists in just one hand. Your eyes widened and you gulped, blinking owlishly at him as he stared you down. “Jesus, I can’t tell what you’re thinking with that damn mask in the way, Jack!”

For a long time, Jack didn’t move, and you feared that you had said the wrong thing and pissed him off. He was only trying to take care of you, after all. Eventually, though, his free hand crept up to his mask, slowly, cautiously. Your breath hitched at the sound of compressor springs being loosened, and he was taking off the mask before you could ask him what he was doing, or why. You couldn’t help but stop breathing as you looked into his deep baby blue eyes, and he looked back into yours. Now, he was as easy to read as a kindergarten book, and all the emotions plastered across his face caught you slightly off guard. There was definitely anger there-- at what exactly, you weren’t certain, but you could guess. But there was also a deep concern deep in his creased forehead, and some sort of… timid, almost frightened look. Nervous.

“Tell me what I’m thinking then,” he whispered.

Jesus. You could see the sparkle in his eye. You gulped as you regarded him, and the corner of his mouth twitched, but nothing more.

“You were afraid,” you whispered, and Jack’s eyes softened in agreement. “You’re still afraid. But for a different reason, I think. I’m not sure what.”

“Hmm.” Jack closed his eyes and sighed through his nose, head dropping a little. Whether it was a sign or not, you took it as an invitation anyways, and though your pulse pounded in your neck, you let your forehead come to rest against his.

He didn’t pull away from you. His breath came out shakily.

“You make some ass-poor decisions out there. I hope you know that.”

“Must be a youth thing,” you countered with a smile.

Jack snorted. “Boy, don’t I know it.” And then he laughed, and the rough sound of it was like music and angels after an absence of sound. He then pulled away from you, and regarded you with an intense, quiet look. It caused you to squirm a bit, feeling shy under his intense, uncovered stare. 

“But I make my fair share of stupid decisions, too,” he whispered, and the hand that came up to cup the side of your face gave no mistake of what he intended to do. Your breath caught in your throat, just before he hesitantly placed his lips against yours-- barely for the span of a moment-- before pulling away.

“Like that.”

You didn’t want him to pull away further. You let your arms snake up his shoulders, grasping him firmly, not breaking eye contact even as your face burned and your body felt tight. He didn’t move to pull away from you, taking your grasp on him as a sign of some form of encouragement.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” you asked him, still blinking almost dreamily.

“Seems about just as long as you,” he replied with a chuckle, pointing at your red cheeks.

“Asshole,” you muttered, before colliding with him in another kiss. This one took him by surprise, and his eyes widened for a moment, before relaxing into your touches, eyes fluttering shut.

But you didn’t close your eyes. Not for one moment, even though you wanted to. Even up close as you were, you wanted to memorize the details of his face-- the scars that slashed through his brow and lip, the crease of worry and age that detracted nothing from his looks, the thick locks of silver hair-- everything.

The kisses you shared gradually grew more heated, breath escaping your nose in tiny puffs as you were reluctant to part for air. His scent and his taste was just too intoxicating. You wanted more of him, and you were completely aware that you were moving at a ridiculously fast pace, but from the feel of it, Jack didn’t seem to mind so much, either.

You must have lost track of time and space, because in the next moment, you were on your back, Jack hovering over you and clearly appraising your form with just his eyes. But there was something in his movements that was a bit hesitant. Before you could open your mouth to ask him if something was wrong, his lips were by your ear.

“Is this… too much?” he asked, his nervousness clear in the way his breathy voice shook, and he looked back towards the door to your room, as if afraid someone was going to walk in.

You replied by wrapping your arms around his torso, yanking him in closer to you and pleased to find his body was scorching, a pleasant contrast to your skin that was constantly cool. You let your lips latch onto his pulse point, and he went rigid above you, fighting back a gasp at the sensation. His arms looped beneath your body, pulling you closer to him, and scooting the both of you further up the bed, after tossing the ruined, bloodies sheets aside with one hand.

“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Jack mumbled as his hands snaked beneath your undershirt, and you lifted your arms to aid him in pulling it up and off of your head. Still, his words didn’t seem to mirror his thoughts, as he continued onwards, as if undeterred, like the words from his lips were just ramblings and nothing more. “Shouldn’t be sleeping with a subordinate probably not even half my age.” He eyed your chest hungrily, like it was the best feast he’d ever laid those gorgeous eyes on. “I shouldn’t think about you the way I do.”

The last sentence held dark promise, and you shivered, reaching beneath yourself and unclasping your bra. “What do you think about?” you inquired breathlessly, curious.

“A whole lotta dirty shit I shouldn’t,” Jack admitted, hands coming to rest at your sides, his right hand thumbing over your gauze absentmindedly as he stared at your bared chest.

You really wanted to hear what sorts of fantasies or kinks Jack had cooked up in his head, but you weren’t sure if outright stating or asking about it was the best course of action. He might shut down, and that was definitely the last thing you wanted right now. Instead, you opted to be a little more subtle in your suggestions. Perhaps if you hinted towards things you thought he might want, he would open up more. And you had a good idea of where to start.

“Come on,” you teased lightly. “If you wanna rough me up a little, I’m not gonna break.” As if to emphasize your statement, you took one of Jack’s hands in yours, and guided it up to your throat, pressing against his wrist just the slightest bit to encourage him to push down.

His intake of breath was barely noticeable, and yet it told you everything you needed to know. You smirked knowingly, letting your hand rest next to your head-- a sign of complete submission. There was still a question lingering in his eyes, and you added, to seal the deal, “I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

Your heart rate quickened at the primal growl Jack released, and he took his hand off of your throat, instead opting to clutch your hands next to your head with his own and kissing you with a hunger far surpassing that which he had expressed before. He had your body effectively pinned beneath him, looking like he wanted to completely  _ devour  _ you with the hungry stare he was gracing you with.

“Gonna mark you up,” he snarled, breathing you in. “Gonna make sure no one else can have you without knowing you were  _ mine  _ first.”

“But I’m only yours,” you started to say, and you were cut off with a yelp when you felt teeth dig into the sensitive skin of your neck, the pain shooting straight down to your gut in a delicious way.

“Keep talking,” he warned, “and I’ll find a better use for that mouth of yours.”

There was a fraction of a second where you wondered how that could really be a punishment, but the thought was quickly whisked away on the heels of another bite that left you clinging desperately to Jack’s shoulders. You moaned around the feeling, legs falling apart some, and Jack wasted no time in taking the opportunity to move between them, closing the distance between your two bodies that much more.

Your throat was thoroughly marked by the time Jack seemed satisfied with his work, and a good portion of your collarbone and shoulders, too. Even without any particularly direct stimulation to where you wanted him to touch you most, you could already feel that you were dripping with arousal. When Jack sat up some to look down at you, he let a free hand drift down between the two of you, touching lightly against your shorts. You jolted slightly at the action, a red blush creeping into your cheeks at Jack’s parted, panting lips.

“Soaking already,” he murmured, almost as if chiding you, left hand still holding your right down as he rubbed two fingers up and down your clothed clit. “All the way through to your damn shorts. I bet I could slip right in without preparing you at all, and you’d beg for it like you’re in heat.”

A pathetic mewl slipped from your throat at the suggestion, knowing it was an awful idea and almost wanting him to do it anyways. Jack chuckled at your neediness, pressing an almost apologetic kiss to one bruised collarbone, before sliding down both your shorts and your panties at the same time.

“Don’t worry,” he assured you as he tossed the garments over his shoulder, grasping your right leg and slinging it over his shoulder. He was still holding on to your right hand as he went back to teasing your now exposed vulva. “I’m gonna take good care of ya. Make you tremble. Make you whimper. Make you beg for me inside you. That’s what you want, isn’t it? For me to fill you up? Claim you?”

You could only nod in response, certain that if you were to speak, your voice would fail you. Thankfully, Jack had mercy on you, and slid a finger inside, though after only one pump, it became two, seeing as how you were already loose and wet. He let his teeth worry at one of your nipples as he prepared you, and you arched against him and whined at the stimulation, squirming and panting. His fingers were thick, filling you in all the right places, and you cried out and slapped a hand over your mouth when he crooked his fingers in just the right spot.

There was a rough grasp at your wrist; Jack pried your hand away from your mouth and snarled, “Let me hear you, sweetheart. I earned those sounds, you know.”

You weren’t afraid of someone hearing you-- the walls were fairly thick between rooms-- it was simply that you weren’t used to making much noise. It embarrassed you slightly, but you didn’t have time to dwell on the fact before there was a third finger in you, stretching you, and he hooked them again, drawing out a long moan from your parted lips.

“P-Please,” you begged, feeling close but not wanting to cum this way. You panted as you writhed beneath Jack’s attentions, so warm and quick. His pupils were blown wide, wide, until the blue of his eyes were a mere halo, and he glanced up at you.

“Please what?” he asked, scissoring all three of his fingers, the stretch making you whine.

“Please f-- please fuck m-me,” you gasped, clutching at his free hand and pressing your other hand to your temple.

With a chuckle that made your toes curl and a predatory gaze that made your heart stutter, Jack pulled his fingers out of you, sucking on each of them one at a time, all while not breaking eye contact with you. Jack then reached down, unbuckling his belt and pulling it out of the loops with a soft  _ whoosh _ . He contemplated the thing for a moment, and you wondered what was going through his head, before he looked down at you and commanded, “Give me your hands.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, you offered both of them to him together, knowing exactly what he wanted. He looped the thing around your wrists several times, the leather rough and unyielding against the sensitive skin there, but it did nothing to dull your excitement or your need. Jack tightened it off with a rough tug, effectively locking your forearms together. He released your arms, and they dropped uselessly to rest on your chest. He addressed you as he continued to undo his pants.

“Look at you,” he murmured, licking his lips. “All tied up for me like a present. You look good enough to eat. But that’s not what you want now, is it?” He shimmied down his pants just enough to free his cock, the head shiny and slick with precum. “Don’t worry; I’ve got just what you need.” The last statement came out in a guttural purr, and his smirk made you whimper as you shifted impatiently.

With your right leg still slung over his shoulder, he guided the tip of his cock to your waiting entrance, rubbing up and down just to tease you. You wanted to tell him to hurry up, to go faster, but also couldn’t deny the wave of arousal that rushed through you at how into teasing you he looked. He was looking at the space between your bodies in complete rapture. He didn’t proceed any further though, and you soon grew impatient.

“Jack,” you whined, squirming beneath his icy blue gaze, “please…”

Jack’s smile turned upwards, and he snickered. “Well, since you asked so nicely…” And without further preamble, he thrust in halfway immediately, causing you to gasp. Once you were accustomed to his girth, he slid in further, until he was sheathed to the hilt.

“Jesus,” he gasped, grinding inside you a little bit. “You’re… tight. Even after all the prep I did, you’re still so. Fucking. Tight.” With each word, he thrust in you a little more, and you threw back your head and moaned loudly. He began to draw back a little more with each thrust, giving more of himself to you, and you could barely keep yourself from crying out.

As his pace increased and his thrusts became harsher, his hands roamed up your body, fondling your breasts with rough, calloused hands, before reaching higher and coming to rest just below your throat. Jack gives you a questioning look, and with a single nod, he wraps one hand around your throat, pressing down, and the other comes back down to hold up the leg over his shoulder. The sudden need to breathe overwhelms you, but the pressure of his hand on your trachea allows barely any air through-- just enough to keep conscious, barely enough to keep your vision from blacking out.

“You’ve got such nice lips,” Jack commented as spots began to creep into the corners of your vision. His breathing was labored as he worked himself in and out of you, sweat in his brow. “Fuck… I bet they’d feel so good around my cock. You’re so good to me, sweetheart. Look so fucking good with my hand around your throat.”

He pulled his hand back, allowing you a single gasp for breath, before pressing down again, and the rush of oxygen made everything so much more powerful. Your hands were straining against the belt around your wrists, causing the edges of the tough leather to dig into your skin. Jack dropped your leg from his shoulder, and the change in angle cause him to slide even deeper into you.

“H-Harder,” you wheezed out, vision spotting again as your climax started to build. 

Jack obliged you more than willingly, pistoning his hips harder into you, and he groaned as he felt you begin to clench around him.

“You close?” he asked, breathing growing more shallow as he approached the precipice himself. He reached a hand down between the two of you, thumbing at your clit and quickening his pace even further somehow. “Come on then, sweetheart, cum for me. And I’ll fill you up for being such a  _ good _ girl for me.”

Just like that, his words tipped you over the edge, and your jaw fell open in a silent cry as you rhythmically clenched around him, vision completely blacking out without any air to keep yourself grounded. The pleasure surged through your veins and through every inch of you, causing you to shake and tremble in Jack’s grasp. He let go of your throat, hand shaking, and moments later, he fell after you, falling forwards and biting into your neck to stifle his own moan as he pumped you full of his cum.

There was a minute or two where the two of you simply lied there, basking in the afterglow and shaking with aftershocks. When Jack finally came back to his senses and pulled out of you, he sheepishly muttered into your neck, “Shoulda asked before I came in you…”

“It’s fine,” you whispered, beginning to feel the dull ache of a good fuck, and also the wound in your side. It was still closed up, but that didn’t mean that Jack’s rough treatment hadn’t caused it harm. You knocked your still bound hands against him, and he bonelessly undid the belt, tossing it aside, and started to rub circulation back into your hands. “I’m not gonna get pregnant.”

“I know,” Jack murmured, pressing kisses to your wrists. “Still.”

The two of you spent a long time laying there as he rubbed the circulation back into your wrists, and checked your neck for any signs of bruising or otherwise unsavory damage. The silence was a bit strange, and you let your head come forwards to rest against his, before kissing him softly on the lips.

When you pulled away, he inquired, “What was that for?”

“For taking care of me,” you told him with a sweet smile. “You didn’t have to come in here and patch me up, but you did. And I appreciate that.”

He screwed up his face, and then sighed, cheeks dusted a light pink. “Things may have gotten slightly out of hand though… believe me, it wasn’t my intention to come in here and… well, you know.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, and Jack joined you, taking it as a cue to gather you in his arms and pull you closer to him. “I don’t mind,” you confessed. “I’d… like to do it again.”

Jack’s eyes widened.

“Not now though,” you quickly clarified, and Jack laughed a bit incredulously at you.

“I get it,” he replied, then hesitated. “Though… I think perhaps a date might be in order before our next rendezvous. Mostly for my own conscience.”

You blinked at him, slightly surprised, before allowing yourself a small smile. “I’d like that.” You peered over him at the clock on the opposite nightstand and pursed your lips. “You don’t have to go anywhere, do you?” you asked him as you let your thumb trace the scar on his lip.

“Not at the moment,” he replied.

“Good. Because my sheets are ruined, and I’m too tired to go get more. So you’re my warmth for the next little while.”

Jack nuzzled his scruffy face into your neck.

“I don’t have a problem with that.”

**Author's Note:**

> My Tumblr: [dylawa.tumblr.com](https://dylawa.tumblr.com)


End file.
